


belated

by starsqwub



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble, Getting Together, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsqwub/pseuds/starsqwub
Summary: Bokuto wasn’t the type to ask permission, let alone twice.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 11
Kudos: 132





	belated

“Can I ask you something, Akaashi?”

Akaashi’s nose wrinkles. (Bokuto wasn’t the type to ask permission.)

“Yes,” Akaashi answers, but he gestures to his classroom's entryway, “I have class in a moment.”

Bokuto’s brow is creased sharply, the way it does when he’s extremely focused. “Should I wait until you’re done with class?”

(Bokuto wasn’t the type to ask permission, let alone twice.)

Akaashi blinks. “I suppose it’s up to you, Bokuto-san,” he says while a classmate squeezes past him. Akaashi steps out into the hallway to make room. Bokuto doesn’t look anymore encouraged by that answer, so Akaashi lifts a hand invitingly: “Go ahead.”

Bokuto nods once, his eyes big and round. “Okay,” he says, and then, his voice oddly measured, “Akaashi, will you be my valentine?”

Akaashi is one hundred percent sure he didn’t hear the question correctly. He steps aside for another group of incoming classmates. “Come again? Bokuto-san?”

He hears Bokuto swallow, before he repeats again, “Will you be my valentine,” and with another nod he says, “Akaashi.”

“Oh,” so he had heard it one hundred percent correctly, “Ah.” Something warm seeps in his heart. But the corner of Akaashi’s mouth twitches; “Bokuto-san—”

A classmate pokes his head into the hallway, fingers clasping the doorframe. “Akaashi-san, I was wondering if I could borrow your notes from yesterday’s lecture, I was out sick. Hey Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto waves.

Akaashi tugs at his collar; “Yes, I’ll get those out for you.”

The classmate smiles and gives his thanks.

Akaashi tries to clear his throat; it only makes his voice doubly strained. “Bokuto-san, Valentine’s Day was two weeks ago.” _And also_ , Akaashi thinks, _have you mistaken me for someone better_. He squeezes his backpack’s straps.

Bokuto’s shoulders rise up, like little mountains. “I know, I uh, I just; I was debating it, you know. Asking you then. I couldn’t make up my mind, I was scared of,” and Bokuto shakes his head; “I’d never be scared of you, Akaashi, but I was just. Anyways.” There’s a pink in Bokuto’s cheeks that wasn’t there before. Though the classroom behind them is rambunctious, full of chairs scraping along floors and high-pitched laughter, Akaashi feels an entirely new kind of quietness in the air when it’s Bokuto being so soft-spoken. Bokuto’s eyes drop to the hardwood floor, and then rise back to Akaashi’s. “I made up my mind. And I know it’s late, but I,” he exhales with a nervous laugh, “I couldn’t wait a whole year! That’s all.”

 _Ah_ , Akaashi thinks. _That's all_. (It feels like everything.)

The school bell rings, drowning out the laughter in the classroom and the quiet in the hall. Akaashi looks to the clock hanging high on the wall and thinks every curse word he knows in its direction.  
  
Bokuto raises his arms, diplomatic (Akaashi's heart pangs; Bokuto wasn’t the type to be diplomatic), “You don’t have to answer right away or anything, Akaashi—”

“Yes,” Akaashi takes a step into the classroom doorframe. “Yes, I,” he squeezes harder at his backpack straps; he wishes he could squeeze the heart in his chest to keep it from certainly bursting. Akaashi bites his lip; “Yes.” He takes a step further inside. “Will you wait for me after class, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s eyes are so bright, his soul must've surely caught fire. He grins wide. “Yes, I’ll—”

“You’re going to be very late for class, Bokuto-kun,” Akaashi’s teacher calls from down the hall. She glides in through the door frame, giving Bokuto a wave to shoo him off.  
  
Akaashi peeks out one last time to the boy running down the hallway; he watches Bokuto laugh and leap, his fingers nearly scraping the low-hanging ceiling lights.  
  
(Akaashi isn't sure if he's the type of person whose soul can catch fire, like Bokuto's.  
  
But perhaps people change.)  
  
“Akaashi-kun,” his teacher warns.  
  
He shuffles to his seat, and he makes one tiny, unspoken correction: Bokuto isn’t going to be late at all. In fact,  
  
his timing may be _perfect_.


End file.
